


Promises Held

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 01:41:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4985047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Taiga is sick and Tatsuya takes it upon himself to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises Held

An hour before they’re supposed to meet up, Taiga texts Tatsuya that he can’t make it and he’s really sorry but he’s sick. And before Tatsuya can text him back that he’ll come over, Taiga’s already followed up that Tatsuya should enjoy his time in Tokyo so not to worry about him and that he’ll call someone else if he needs anything—which of course is pointless and counterproductive.

How can Tatsuya not worry when Taiga’s too sick to meet up? How can he not be preoccupied and enjoy himself? And it’s not like he has any other plans right now—theoretically, he could just hang out with Atsushi’s brothers (even though they’re already letting him stay two nights) or even call up Atsushi to say he’d join him and his friends after all, but he wouldn’t even be able to enjoy that. And even if Taiga’s friends are perfectly capable of taking care of him (and Tatsuya reminds himself he has no reason to think most of them aren’t) Tatsuya wants to anyway—out of duty, out of selfishness, whatever.

He calls. Taiga answers on the second ring.

“Hey.”

His voice is rough like the inside of a wool sweater against Tatsuya’s ears—it’s bad; it gets worse when he coughs and even over the phone it sounds harsh and deep.

“I’m coming over,” says Tatsuya.

“But—”

“You sound like hell, Taiga.”

“I might be contagious. It’s really—” Taiga starts, dissolving into a cough again, and Tatsuya’s already halfway out the door, waving to Atsushi’s brother.

“It’s not fine.”

“I know,” says Taiga—and he doesn’t protest any longer.

* * *

 

Tatsuya arrives with some instant chicken broth and cough syrup purchased from the convenience store; he rings the doorbell and for some time there’s no reply. He hears footsteps, slow and heavy, before Taiga opens the door—and he looks even worse than he sounds, bleary-eyed and shivering even though he’s overdressed for the crisp early autumn day and sweat is matting his bangs to his forehead. Before he can say anything he coughs again; he winces as he does it—and it sounds as if his chest and throat are cracking, rending themselves from the inside out.

Tatsuya doesn’t want to know how bad his fever is, but he has to—once he gets Taiga back into bed and gets down the extra blanket from the hall closet (because he’s already stolen the ones from his dad’s room) he goes into the bathroom to find the thermometer. Taiga lets him stick it under his tongue without protest, and when Tatsuya takes it out—fuck. It’s over a hundred and three (thankfully Taiga has a Fahrenheit thermometer) and when he touches Taiga’s forehead it’s hotter than a sidewalk in the summer back in LA.

“How do you feel?” he asks. “Nauseous?”

“Just cold,” says Taiga, burrowing further under the covers.

* * *

 

Taiga falls asleep about half an hour later, after he manages to take a dose of cough syrup and Tatsuya puts a cool cloth on his forehead and checks his temperature again. It’s gone down by a couple of tenths of a degree, and it might be wishful thinking but Taiga’s not shivering and shaking so much. He’s still coughing in his sleep and it still sounds bad, though.

It figures that they finally get physically close, not just in the same city or the same room but with just a few inches of bedcovers between them, and—Tatsuya’s not going to go there. It’s wrong to think about it in general, and especially when Taiga’s so sick. It’s not as if he could even think of taking advantage of him when he’s like this (and it’s not like the mood’s conducive at all, what with Taiga filthy with sweat and his throat filled with phlegm—although even so Tatsuya still wants him too much).

Taiga stirs. “Tatsuya?”

“You need anything?”

He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry about today. That I couldn’t make it and you’re stuck here with me.”

Tatsuya ruffles his damp hair. “We can play basketball some other time. I’m here because I want to be, okay?”

Taiga mumbles something incoherent, but as if relieved of the weight of his guilt he drifts back off into sleep.

* * *

 

The next time Taiga wakes up it’s several hours later; his cough is getting worse again but when Tatsuya sticks the thermometer under his tongue again he finds that at least the fever is now just under 102.

“Have you eaten at all today?”

“I’m not hungry,” says Taiga—at that he offers a weak grin.

“Could you eat some soup?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let me go and make you some,” says Tatsuya. “Take some more medicine, okay?”

Taiga nods.

Tatsuya leaves the door open when he’s in the kitchen; there’s enough stuff lying around to add to the chicken broth to make a decently robust soup. It’s then he realizes he’s kind of hungry himself. But Taiga’s his first priority; he ladles out some of the soup into a bowl for him and heads back to the bedroom. Taiga’s halfway-dozing off; the bottle of medicine is still open on the nightstand next to the thermometer. He opens his eyes when he feels Tatsuya’s weight beside him.

“Can you hold the bowl?” says Tatsuya.

“I better not try,” says Taiga.

“You want me to feed you?”

Taiga blushes; it’s clear to see even with the fever, like a fire engine in the light of a sunset, and despite the situation it’s quite cute. He dips the spoon in the soup and holds it out, and Taiga opens his mouth, swallowing it down.

“It’s warm,” he says, as if bewildered by the concept.

Tatsuya wants so badly to laugh. Instead, he returns the spoon to the bowl and picks up some more soup. He manages to get through a third of it before Taiga refuses to eat any more, rolls over, and goes back to sleep. All things considered, Taiga was very good about it—he knows he needs to eat, even if it’s at a time when it’s the last thing in the world he wants to do, and he doesn’t even complain about it.

“Thank you,” Tatsuya murmurs, patting Taiga through the layers of blankets.

* * *

 

Tatsuya figures Taiga will mind the least if he eats leftovers, particularly the oldest ones (Because of course Taiga dates all the containers). They’re still good, even cold and a week later, which is just another testament to Taiga’s cooking skills. When he goes back to check, Taiga’s still fast asleep, breathing a little easier. Tatsuya sits beside him on the bed, reading articles on his phone. It’s then he realizes that it’s getting late, so he texts Atsushi that he won’t be back until the next day and to apologize to his parents and siblings for him. Atsushi’s reply sounds annoyed, but it is what it is.

Taiga stirs beside him, shucking off a couple of layers of covers and sitting up. Before Tatsuya can ask him if he wants or needs anything, he places his feet on the floor and pulls himself up into a standing position.

“Bathroom,” he says, shuffling off toward the door.

When he comes back, he acquiesces to another temperature reading. But when Tatsuya leans in to take the thermometer out of his mouth, Taiga leans in, too. The thermometer drops to the bed, but their foreheads are close, close enough for Tatsuya to feel the heat from Taiga’s skin like an old overclocked computer. Their foreheads touch.

And then their lips do. Taiga’s mouth is dry and tastes terrible, but the contact is gentle even with the shock value of the realization that this is actually happening—and then he pulls away, burrowing under the covers again.

Like an automaton, Tatsuya picks up the thermometer and checks the temperature; the reading disappears just as he’s reading it—the fever’s gone down again, but it’s still over a hundred. And Taiga is clearly delusional right now, whether he’s in some sort of half-fever-dream or what—Tatsuya touches his lips. Had Taiga given himself too much cough syrup? Did he know what he was doing at all? Is it the sort of gesture that only makes sense in a dream? Is he even going to remember any of it tomorrow, and if he does will he remember that it actually happened?

Tatsuya’s not sure if he wants Taiga to remember. Because as far as he lets himself entertain the possibility, he always reels his thoughts back in on a sturdy enough fishing line because there’s no way it could happen. And he doesn’t want to let himself hope even more than usual, only for his hopes to be finally dashed when Taiga admits it was a mistake.

* * *

 

The first thing Tatsuya thinks when he wakes up is how sore he is all over, and then he hears Taiga’s coughs and remembers that he’s twisted into an awkward half-seated position on the edge of Taiga’s bed. And then the events of last night come rushing back to him, the kiss and the warmth of Taiga’s lips and the way he’d reached for Tatsuya’s hand—which, Tatsuya notices then, he’s still holding. And either Tatsuya’s gotten used to it or Taiga’s fever has gone down, because his skin doesn’t feel nearly as hot.

Taiga coughs again; he sounds better, too. The cough syrup must have really helped whatever was going on in his throat and chest. He still doesn’t look or smell too good, but Tatsuya imagines a shower will take care of part of that and what’s left of recovery will take care of the rest—but he’s well on the way.

Taiga shifts in his sleep, rolling halfway over against Tatsuya and then, realizing his movement has been interrupted, he blinks and squints at Tatsuya.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

Taiga opens his mouth to talk, but no sound comes out. He coughs again, and then he speaks, voice raspy.

“Better. Honestly.”

He doesn’t meet Tatsuya’s eyes, though—is he not? Or is this about last night? Does he remember? Either way, he lets Tatsuya stick the thermometer under his tongue. He’s at 99.5, nearly down to normal, and Tatsuya sighs in relief. And then Taiga’s stomach growls.

“Hungry?” says Tatsuya.

“Uh. Yeah.”

He’s still acting funny, even though he’s recovered enough to start craving food again. Tatsuya looks down—if Taiga won’t meet his eyes he won’t try to meet Taiga’s either. He’s not sure he’ll like what he finds (most likely regret).

“I’ll make us breakfast. You can take a shower.”

“Sure.”

* * *

 

Taiga comes in just as Tatsuya’s serving the scrambled eggs up on plates; he already seems even better just from being clean, and when he smiles at Tatsuya it’s not the weak and forced smile he’d had on yesterday.

“This looks great,” he says.

Tatsuya just smiles back—and then Taiga looks away again. He clearly does remember last night, and just as clearly wants to forget it ever happened. He probably thought Tatsuya had been someone else in his feverish delirium, someone he’d actually wanted to kiss—or maybe he’d known it was Tatsuya but he’d meant to kiss him on the cheek in a gesture of brotherly affection and missed (although Tatsuya will admit that that possibility is far less likely).

“Tatsuya?” says Taiga.

He’s already finished with his food (his appetite really is back).

“Yes?” says Tatsuya.

“Did I…kiss you last night?”

The words fall from his lips as if he’s been trying to hold them all in his mouth but they don’t fit, as if he hasn’t quite gotten the way he wants to say them down. He flushes, dark but not feverishly bright.

“Yes,” says Tatsuya. “But if you’d like me to forget about it, I can.”

This is a lie, and Taiga probably knows it—but he’ll pretend to forget and things won’t be quite so awkward between them and they’ll return to whatever their new normal baseline is.

Taiga breathes in deeply; Tatsuya can hear it in his throat. He coughs, still much less harsh and wracking than last night, and then he looks at Tatsuya.

“I—I mean, if you want to remember it, then I want you to, too. And I’d like to, uh. Maybe do it again sometime. I mean, do you want to?”

He twists his fingers in the chain around his neck; he looks a little bit sheepish but very earnest, and even if the words might have been spoken in an awkward jumble it’s hard to make them seem ambiguous. It’s hard for Tatsuya to convince himself that this isn’t everything he’d hoped for and told himself to stop imagining. He bites his lip, trying to formulate a way to say what he has to in response—he can’t lie to Taiga’s face like this and say he doesn’t want it, because he does. And he’s wanted it for so long; he’s so used to telling himself not to think about it and trying to ignore himself when those feelings and thoughts inevitably come back—but now that he knows Taiga wants it it’s so much harder to say no, because the biggest barrier is no longer there. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy, or even the right thing to do. Tatsuya takes a breath, measured and just a little deeper than normal.

“I…I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I mean, you’re here and I’m there and we haven’t even been—“ he waves his hand (he can’t say that they haven’t even been properly talking or communicating for nearly a year yet because even though it’s been a while it still feels like not enough, and it’s still so painful to talk about).

“But do you want it?”

He bites his lip again, turns his hand over to squeeze Taiga’s. “I do.”

And Taiga still looks a little concerned, a little worried—and fuck, this is a bad idea but Tatsuya leans in anyway and kisses him.

He tastes good, not like rancid breath and cough syrup this time, but butter and orange juice; his nose brushes against Tatsuya’s. And he can feel Taiga’s mouth twisting into a grin, and when they part his mouth is lit up like a Jumbotron.

They stay there for a bit, still holding hands, until Taiga’s look turns more solemn.

“Hey,” he says. “I promise—even if this doesn’t work, if it’s the distance or whatever, that I don’t want to stop being friends. Or anything like that. Because—to me, that’s important. Still.”

There are things, as numerous as the leaves falling outside the kitchen window, that Tatsuya wants to say, that of course he knows Taiga hasn’t been working on their friendship just to get with him like this, that how does he know this won’t work because of something even he can’t forgive Tatsuya for, that it won’t be so easy as that—but there’s such raw honesty in Taiga’s face that he can’t. It would be cruel and pointless, and the way Taiga says it makes him want to believe.

And he’s glad, too, that Taiga’s back in his life in any capacity let alone this one. Even if he doesn’t deserve the chances Taiga’s given him, he’s very glad he’s gotten them all the same.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

It’s for all of that—all of what he’s given, all of what he’s promised. And Taiga gets it; his gaze, still locked with Tatsuya’s, softens again. His thumb strokes the heel of Tatsuya’s hand.

Taiga clears his throat—his skin is still a little bit too warm, but he does look and sound worlds better than yesterday. Still, they shouldn’t overdo it. Tatsuya squeezes his hand again.

“I’ll clean up. Go lie down.”

Taiga looks as if he’s about to argue—but then he nods. Tatsuya kisses his cheek and waits for him to actually leave the room before he starts to clean. Washing out the dirty dishes is calming, a bit of a coming-down period from everything that just happened. And when he’s finished, he returns to the bedroom to find Taiga asleep again, only halfway under the covers.

He brushes Taiga’s hair away from his face; Taiga blinks and stirs.

“Tatsuya?”

“I’m here. You can go back to sleep.”

Taiga sighs, closing his eyes and leaning into Tatsuya’s touch. He smiles, and soon his breathing evens out, like a shirt pressed under a flatiron.


End file.
